Sisters
by ForeverNerdGirl7
Summary: Narcissa and Bellatrix have a little chat about Draco.


**Team: Holyhead Harpies**

**Position: Beater 2**

**Sisters: Bellatrix and Narcissa**

**Prompts: "I thought about how there are two kinds of secrets; the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out"- Ally Carter, and Trickery.**

"Welcome, Bellatrix." I greeted her, opening the door and gesturing inside. She came in, walking as if a bit tipsy. Her body language gave off an air of not caring, a lazy kind of passive facade that was hiding rage and insanity just below the surface.

"No need to be so formal, Cissy." Bellatrix took in the manor, eyes greedily feasting on the magnificence and grandeur of my home. I did not respond to her comment.

"So," she said, turning to face me slowly. As if she had all the time in the world. "The boy, Draco."

My breath caught. I hid it with a low cough, and regained my composure. Chills always ran up my spine whenever she said my son's name.

"Ah, yes. He is doing well, thank you." I wanted to change the subject, to change it to anything but him. Bellatrix started walking again, waving her wand idly. She eyed me, as if analyzing whatever reaction I was to have next.

"The Dark Lord has taken quite an interest in him," she said, as if without interest. But her body was tensed, waiting for my reply.

All I could muster was, "So he has."

"Yes," Bellatrix continued, still wandering around the foyer. "I hear he has something special in mind for your boy."

My heart slammed against my throat painfully, and a lone bead of sweat formed at my temple. No. No, not my son. Not my Draco. I gave a puff of staggered breath and a wobbly smile, closing my eyes and shaking my head gently.

"He's just a boy, Bella. Just a boy."

And he was. He was just an innocent child, thrown into this whirlwind of instability and madness at birth. He had no part in this. This was my doing, mine and mine alone. Except for maybe Lucius, too. We should've gotten our baby away from all this when he was small, we should've protected him when we still could.

She scoffed.

"Just a boy. Ha! He's old enough to carry out the dark Lord's wishes, and that is what he shall do. We all have a duty to He Who Must Not Be Named. It is our duty as wizards and witches to preserve our bloodline, to make sure that those filthy Mudbloods and Blood traitors remain in the position they deserve, that Purebloods prevail as the dominant race! We must, for we are-"

The blood rushing through my ears blocked out anything else she was saying. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart, the roaring of blood through my body. My knees were shaking.

"Bella," I interrupted. Her head snapped towards me, regarding my with wide eyes filled with fire.

"Please, sister. He's my only son. Please."

She barely breathed, the only sign of breath entering and leaving her body was the lone strand of wild, curly dark hair in front of her face, moving back and forth in front of her nose and mouth. My heart5 almost stopped. I was sure, sure she was going to hurt me. She was going to do what she relished doing to all her victims. she was going to use an Unforgivable, she was going to torture me, she was going to use the Cruciatus curse. And then she laughed.

She threw her head back and cackled, laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. She doubled over, screaming with mirth, stomping her feet and clapping her hands. She stopped within an instant and straightened, deathly serious. She walked towards me, leaning her face close to mine.

"Your son is expendable, Narcissa. His only purpose in this world was to be the Dark Lord's pawn, to serve his wishes and the die. nothing more. It was foolish of you to grow so attached to him."

She was smiling, but her eyes were not. Her face must've been an inch away from mine, and I could smell her minty breath. Her skin was ghostly pale, as if she were dead. Her lips were a deep red in contrast, but not due to lipstick. I detected a tinge of a metallic kind of smell, one that could only be associated with blood. I watched her bite her lip, drawing even more of the repulsive liquid I have grown all but too accustomed to. Her tongue darted out, licking the blood away like a child would lick away ice cream after dessert. I could see it in her eyes, she was relishing this. The fear that was most ikely radiating from me, eminating from every pore in my body. The simple yet terribly horrifying taste of her own blood. The pleasure I know she gets from psychologically torturing her victim. Silent screams, the ones that you can't physically hear but know are happening within, a person are her favorite. A tear slid down my cheek. She turned around sharply, hair whipping around and stinging me in the face.

And then she was gone.


End file.
